CHAPTER 7: MOONLIGHT RIDE

The car was hidden behind a couple of overturned, rusty cargo shipping containers, at the end of a short pier. It was a grungy, mid-size deal with two doors. It was dented, had a patched window, and hadn't been washed in a few years. Even so, it looked fast, sleek, but not expensive… More like a style that I was unfamiliar with. That made me frown. How long had I been stuck chained to the throne? It had felt like forever, but there had been no way to tell. The moon was looking down on the water again, and I took that as a good omen, just watching it for a couple of minutes. I blinked out of my reverie in time to catch a duffel bag. "Here, make yourself useful," said RPM. He pulled off his goggles and suit hood, and placed them carefully in the bag. I snuck a peek at the revealed face. His eyes were pitted metal, old cybereyes that had probably seen a hell of a lot since they'd been put in. He had braided, graying black hair, and with the goggles up I could see the rest of his face paint. Now that it was fully revealed, it had a lined pattern to it… "You're an Indian!" I said, then shut my mouth, looking away and shutting my eyes. Embarassing!

He chuckled. "Last I checked. Though when I was growin' up, most of you palefaces preferred the term Native Americans." I opened an eye cautiously, in time to see him strip off the vest and rest of the suit. He was wearing tighty-whities, I noted, before I looked back away. I felt him deposit the clothes in the bag, then heard rustling as he turned back to the car, and a few zippers.

"I appreciate the courtesy little lady, but I doubt I had anything you didn't see before." I shrugged, and turned back. "It's the principle of the thing," I replied. Well, that and I didn't want to weird him out. It had been a long time since I'd had experience with clothes, I'd forgotten a lot of social niceties. Like where to put your eyes.

He'd changed into slacks and a wifebeater, with a leather vest pulled over the ensemble. Simple, and it showed off his wiry muscles. I noted that one arm had a tattoo of some sort of big cat on it. He took the bag back, and I let him. "So, where to?" He asked. One arm indicated the open passenger-side door.

I shrugged, then thought about it. What was the best for my immediate survival? Well, getting un-naked would probably help. I looked at the pair of pants I'd tucked under my arm, stained with Vylent's bodily fluids. "Um. A Laundromat, please. And do you have, uh, a few bucks I can borrow?"

I saw his eyebrows raise. "Laundromat? Bucks? Man, there's some words I ain't heard in a while."

He misinterpreted my grimace. "Relax. You just want someplace to wash clothes?"

"Yeah." I presented the smelly pants. He took one look, one whiff, and frowned. "Nope. Those don't go in my car. Hold on."

He popped the trunk and rummaged around, eventually pulling out something which looked like jeans. "You'll have to roll'em up, and belt'em good, but these should work." I dropped Vylent's britches, and hastily changed into his spares. Vylent's belt was still good, even though I had to tuck it into the very last notch. I looked up in time to see him studying me, shaking his head. "Um…" I said.

"Nothing much. Just wondering why you were modest enough to look away when I was changing, but had no problem changing in front of me."

I looked down. Damnit! I wasn't used to PEOPLE. I wasn't used to CLOTHES! And I knew these were the smallest of issues, the smallest of my troubles. I would have to relearn a thousand little social cues and customs, if I didn't want to draw attention to myself.

He put a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. I don't know a thing about you, but I reckon you been through something nasty. So don't fret about what I think, and I'm sorry if I upset you. So now you got clean britches, where do you want to go?"

I put my hand on his for a moment, and squeezed it in thanks. Finally looking up at the sky, I considered. Still didn't know when dawn would break. "I need someplace to sleep."

"Just so you know, I ain't taking you home. I don't know you, you don't know me. And you're a bit young for an old cat like me, anyhow."

I appreciated that.

"Yeah, okay. I just need someplace to crash for a day or so. But I don't have any cash."

He considered me for a second, with those metal eyes. "You get robbed or something?"

"Or something, yeah."

"Took your comm., too?"

"Comm?"

"Yeah, your link."

"Uh. I don't think I had one."

He blinked, then settled his face into a neutral expression.

"Tell you what. Lemme give you a shirt, then you let me see that jacket for a minute. I think I recognize the cut of your coat."

I looked him over for a second, then nodded and took the pro-offered t-shirt. This time I turned my back, as I changed. When I turned back, he had one of the little zippered mini-pockets on the jacket open, revealing a tiny, glowing screen.

"Thought so. This here's an Urban Chic jacket. Most of their models got a built-in plasti-fab comm. screen. Link's down here." He flipped the jacket around, to show a small plastic disk, kind of like a compact with LEDs in a holster, near the jacket's armpit. He touched a few things on it, and it opened up to reveal a set of pushbutton keys.

"Hm. Crappy little thing. All the bells and whistles, and no real horsepower. Or security, I'll bet." His lips twisted. "Between this and his eye, I'm inclined to think that your former buddy was a rich-kid, slumming. Playing at being a big bad ganger." He frowned. "This changes a few things. Oh, not with you kid, don't worry. You still get your ride. Anyway, the geek you slotted doesn't need this anymore, and you could probably use it. I ain't a hacker, but I've got some software that'll wipe this puppy, let you use it."

I blinked. "That'd… Be nice."

He closed the car's trunk and sat on it, as he pulled out a less-fancy looking disk of his own, and started hitting a few buttons on it, one-handed, muttering words in a language I didn't know. At various words, the disk in his hand would beep, and Vylent's would beep or hum in response, and he'd stab a finger into the air. I didn't know what to make of it.

While he worked, I studied him. With the suit off, I could see him a little more clearly.

As I found out after my change, and as it turns out, vampire vision is pretty useful stuff. Put simply, we can see heat. Since most things have at least a little temperature difference, this lets us see in the dark without too much trouble. It's not 100% effective, and I'm sure there are ways to circumvent it, but it gives us a huge edge over regular people.

And I'm willing to bet that RPM's cybereyes were easily the equal of my own vision, or better.

I studied him, watched the heat of his form, the colors that it made and the shades that it brought out where his skin was exposed. His clothes evened it out, so they looked like a continuous block of muted orange, but his flesh was a glorious burst of red where I could see it. If I focused I could see the veins in his neck and face… Made me glad I'd eaten Vylent, earlier. I couldn't see the area around his eyes too well… That part faded almost to pure black when I looked them over.

Eyes. Hm. "Hey, RPM?"

"Give me a minute. Almost done."

"Yeah, that's fine. Um. That one I killed… Did you take his eye because it's better than your own are?"

He was still for a moment, concentrating on clicking the keys. I saw his temperature change a little. You know how all those tridflicks always have the vampire/superhero/mage/whatever able to read if someone's lying or otherwise predicting their thoughts by watching their heartbeat and bodyheat? Yeah, that's not really how it works. People are always changing… I suppose if you knew someone REALLY well, you could tell their lies by their heat cues. But if you knew them that well, you wouldn't have to see their heat to tell if they were lying.

Finally, he looked up. His face was blank, as he studied me. "No. Mine are military grade. Obsolete military grade, but still better than that punk could've had. But his eye will be worth some nuyen, when I sell it to a chop-shop vendor."

Nuyen. Okay, that sounded familiar. I pushed it aside, and smiled. "That why you offered to help me?"

He shrugged. "It let me get my hands on that eye without you shooting at me, or me shooting at you. And don't get me wrong, I'll uphold my end of the bargain. Not to mention that I'm helping you in a few ways that don't cost me anything."

"How much will you get for it?"

"Couple hundred, if I'm lucky. About what I made for this job." He studied me for a while, then said a word, and both commlinks beeped. He offered Vylent's back to me. "You all right with that, or do we have to renegotiate?"

I took the comm., and smiled. "We're good." I watched him relax a bit. "Alright. You're clear for now. Wouldn't use that commlink for anything important, but it'll be good enough to get you into a coffin motel."

I jumped. Coffin? How had he-? No, wait.

"Coffin motel?"

"Yeah. Bout all you can afford. I tossed you 20 from the Jaguars' credstick, that should be good for up to a week." He showed me the cylinder that the gangers had given him, then pocketed it, and his own 'commlink'. "Fair warning, if you don't tack a SIN onto that comm. in about four-five days, it won't work so good anymore. Mitsuhama's been cracking down on illegal comms lately, and that's what yours is now."

I nodded. "Thanks. So you know, uh, a good coffin hotel?"

"Ain't no good coffin hotels, but I can get you to a couple that aren't in Jaguars turf. Probably best to get on out of here, anyway. That took longer than I planned."

I was hearing motorcycles in the distance again. And shots, ragged and disordered, this time. "What's wrong?"

He grimaced, and held the door for me as I got in, before heading around to the driver's side. My feet crunched on old fast-food containers, and after thinking about it for a second, I belted up.

"That job was too easy, was what's wrong. Jaguars hired me to help them put the hurt on the Muerte Rojos. But those boys we killed tonight? They went down easy. They were green. I'm willing to bet that they were new recruits, sent out here as a feint. Rojos told them to go prove their worth by tagging, then wrote them off. They sent them into an obvious ambush, while the Rojos hit the Jaguars where they're not looking."

There was a muffled CRUMP, and the dock shook for a second. To the west, a pillar of smoke started to rise into the sky. RPM slammed his hand against the dash, and swore. After half a minute of cussing, he started the car, and began maneuvering around the shipping containers, picking his way off the pier. I noticed that even though the car looked grungy and banged up, it ran quiet. The insides were obviously well-kept. There was a lesson there.

"So. Are you going to go help the Jaguars?"

He laughed. Unlike his earlier chuckles, this one was sharp, and over quickly. "No. No reason."

"I thought you were working for them?"

"Was. Job's done. Spent the better part of a week leaking rumors that the Jaguars were going to be hitting the Asphalt Gods tonight, and away from their turf. Set them up in a picture-perfect ambush spot, in the place most likely to be hit when the Rojos came rollin'. And most important?"

He looked at me, a humorless smile on his face. "I got paid. I'm done. Not my fault the Rojos were smart about this one."

He sighed, and looked back to driving. We made it off the pier, and started humming down back-streets, jerking back and forth as he dodged debris, torn-up patches in the streets, and a few other obstacles. Finally, he spoke up again, not taking his eyes from the road. His voice was soft, and I watched his face droop as he talked.

"Besides. There's damn little joy OR pay in helping kids kill kids."

I didn't have a good reply to that.